The Pilfered Pathologist
by cactusnell
Summary: Has someone managed to snatch his pathologist out from under his nose? Sherlolly


It was late morning in the morgue at St. Bart's hospital and Sherlock Holmes was killing time and fighting boredom, using his favorite method. Annoying Dr. Molly Hooper. He used to enjoy annoying John Watson, but John was currently being annoyed by his wife Mary and infant daughter. Perhaps "annoyed" was the wrong term to use. Occupied with? Enthralled by? These may have been more correct in regard to John, but when it came back to Sherlock, and Molly, "annoyed" was certainly the word of choice.

Sherlock rather liked being an annoyance to Molly. It guaranteed a response, that she paid attention to the detective. And, god only knows, Sherlock Holmes loved attention. And, like a schoolboy tugging at a little girl's pigtails, Sherlock loved attention from Molly Hooper. And so he was now sitting in the morgue, staring through his favorite microscope at nothing in particular, awaiting Molly's return from the ladies', when John made his way through the doors, and muttered a greeting.

"Sherlock, I didn't think I'd find you here."

"Then why are you here, John?"

"Just wanted to ask Molly if she wanted to get some lunch. I've finished my rounds, and don't have anything to do at the moment." John looked around. "Where is she, anyway?"

"She'll be back. Went to the ladies." Sherlock's answer was brusque, as he was still processing the thought of his pathologist and his best friend having any kind of relationship which didn't involve him. He found it just a bit unsettling.

Almost as he spoke, the woman in question returned, looking slightly different.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before?" Sherlock asked without preamble.

Molly paused in her steps toward her office, experiencing a sense of deja vu. She finally replied, with a slightly mysterious smile, "Yes, I am Sherlock. It seems some people find my lips too small without it!"

"I never said they were TOO small, Dr. Hooper, merely small. And you have to admit they are. They fit well with the rest of you. You are, let's face it, a small person. Almost a portable person, so to speak…"

"Thanks a lot! I don't think I've ever been called portable before. Charming." Molly spoke with a slight smirk in her voice, before heading into her office. Sherlock glanced over at John just in time to see the "not good" look on his face.

John called after her retreating form, "Lunch today, Molls?"

"Can't, John. Busy!"

Sherlock's ears perked up at her response. Busy? A luncheon engagement? Is that what required the application of lipstick? Molly often to lunch in the cafe with a colleague or two, but this never required the addition of makeup. A date? Had someone slipped under his radar? He was about to slip into his mind palace to search for clues which his conscious mind may have missed when he was distracted by the sound of Molly's mobile signalling an incoming call. He was further distracted by her reaction, as she muttered, "Just a moment," and rose from her desk to shut her office door. This was not good. Private conversations and lipstick did not bode well at all, in Sherlock's estimation. Dark clouds were gathering, threatening a storm to come, when he was interrupted by the sound of John Watson clearing his throat.

"Sherlock, ah, I've been meaning to talk to you about something…"

"Yes, John, what is it?" the detective said, talking to John, but still staring at the closed door of Molly Hooper's office.

"Well, it's Mary, really…"

"Trouble in paradise already? Really, if a thrill seeking ex-military doctor and a retired assassin can't make it, what hope is there for romance…"

"Shut up, Sherlock, and let me talk. I'm not really comfortable with this, but I have to ask…"

"Here, let me make you more comfortable, John!" Sherlock then shifted his full attention to the man across the table from him, giving him his most insincere sincere look, and tried to smile encouragingly. He failed miserably.

"That's not helping, you git. In fact, you're giving me chills…"

Sherlock relaxed. "Do just spit it out, John. What is it you have to say?"

"Well, as I said, it's Mary, actually, who has this idea that you may, well, care for Molly Hooper."

"Of course I care for Molly. She's a dear old friend. An older friend even than you, John. And she was helped me tremendously…"

"I'm not saying this well, am I? Ah, Mary thinks that you may have a, uh, thing, for Molly…"

"A 'thing', John? Please clarify. What kind of thing? Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"According to my wife, definitely animal, mate," John said with a chuckle. "Look, Sherlock, in all seriousness…"

"Whenever you say that, you usually follow up with something I don't want to hear, John. And I don't know what concern my relationship with my pathologist…"

"See, that's just it! 'Your' pathologist. You can't just own a pathologist! At least not since 1772 in England! She's not yours! She's A pathologist who works with you from time to time. It's easy to see why Mary thinks…"

"Yes, John, what does Mary think?"

"Mary believes you're in love with 'your' pathologist, Sherlock! She's convinced of it, and I'm beginning to see her point."

"Ah."

"So, what do you have to say, huh?"

"What would you like me to say, John?"

"I want you to confirm or deny it, so my wife will stop nagging me 'to have a talk with the bastard'! That's what I want!"

"Mary has always been very observant, John. I would advise you never to have an affair…"

"Mary has already given me the same advice. So, what's the answer? Yes or no?"

"Of course I'm in love with her, John! Have been for ages! Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Right! I must have missed it between the canoodling with Janine, the nasty remarks, the obviously insincere flirting, the drug relapse, the whole Irene Adler thing, the taking advantage…"

"Yes, John, as I said, you haven't been paying attention. Mary is much more astute, it seems." Sherlock said smugly. "Why do you think I sabotage all her relationships? Why do you think I have Mycroft's minions protecting her? Why do you think I'm sitting here staring into an empty petri dish under my favorite microscope? And why do you think it's my favorite microscope…"

"You admit that you've sabotaged all her relationships, Sherlock? How have you pulled that off?"

"It's relatively easy, John, when you are highly intelligent, a close relative of the British government, with access to his many resources, and unencumbered by a social conscience."

"Yeah, I see where that would do it!", John said with a rueful laugh. "But what are you going to do when you meet your match, eh? There's always somebody out there who's smarter, with better connections. Better looking."

"Better looking doesn't really count, John. Molly is very intelligent. She would never fall for someone based entirely on look. And who can you think of who is smarter? Or better connected?" Just as he finished this, with a rather self-satisfied smirk, the door of the morgue swung open, and in walked Mycroft Holmes.

"Brother dear, I had not expected to find you here. Hello, John, a pleasure, as always."

Sherlock's lips curled as he prepared to speak, but the words caught in his throat as Molly opened her office door, walked swiftly to his elder brother, grabbed his arm, and smiled up at him. "Right on time, Mycroft. Where are you taking me?"

"Allow me to surprise you, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said with a flair, as he escorted her through the swinging door.

Sherlock Holmes could not speak for a moment or two, and when he finally regained his voice, he turned to John Watson with a bleak look on his face, and said, "This, John, is bad. Very, very bad."

Molly held on to Mycroft as they walked down the corridor towards the hospital exit, giggling all the while, as Mycroft smiled indulgently, finally saying, "He did look a bit perturbed, didn't he, Molly?"

"A bit, yes. Is Anthea joining us?"

"Of course. She's waiting in the car."

"What do you think Sherlock will do, Mycroft?"

"Given his past history, he will do exactly as he did when we were children and he felt I was co-opting his toys. He will tattle to Mummy." Mycroft snickered a bit at this point. "Although Mummy, I am sure, will not offer her customary advice this time."

"What was that?"

"She would constantly tell us to share, Molly. Although that would hardly be appropriate in this case. And I doubt very much that you would be any more amenable to that solution than my brother would!" Mycroft said with a small laugh. "Nor would Anthea, come to think of it! But, come, let's have a nice lunch, and leave my brother to his own thoughts."

When Sherlock Holmes came back to his senses a few moments later, after a brief and unfulfilling visit to his mind palace, he discovered John Watson had deserted him, possibly due to the fact that he could not contain himself, and had hurried off to fill his wife in on the latest development. Sherlock was faced with a rival who, for the first time, was as intelligent, or arguably even more so, than himself. And definitely better connected. The British government, indeed! SO, Sherlock did the only thing he could do. He made a call to the only person more intelligent and more powerful than his elder brother. Someone who could strike fear into his heart. She who must be obeyed. Mummy.

"William, is that really you, or has some passer-by removed your mobile from your lifeless corpse, and is now calling to notify me where I can collect the body?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mummy. I have left my pathologist's number as the person to contact is case of my likely demise."

"Sherlock, you really should refrain from calling Dr. Hooper YOUR pathologist. It is illegal in England to actually own people, and has been since…"

"Yes, 1772. It's already been pointed out to me once today." Sherlock rolled his eyes to emphasize this point, even though there was no one around to see it. "Anyway, Mummy, about Molly. Remember when Mycroft stole by teddy?"

"Yes…"

"And my first microscope?"

"I do recall your refusing to acknowledge that the microscope was a gift to both of you…"

"Never mind, Mummy! How about my lorry? The one with the remote control?"

"You hated that thing, Will! You said it was useless, as you had no plans in the foreseeable future to ever be a lorry driver!"

"Not the point! It was mine, and Mycroft took it!"

"Where are you going with this, Will?"

"Mummy, Mycroft has stolen my pathologist!"

His mother's low, throaty laugh came over the line, and finally she said, "I don't suppose it would be socially acceptable to tell you to share, would it, Will?"

"Mummy, forget the hippie claptrap from your younger days. I have no desire to hear what you and Papa got up to in the sixties. Just tell Mycroft to give her back!"

"Perhaps you should be discussing this with Molly, or Mycroft. Just don't say anything to Anthea, at least until you're sure of your facts…"

"What the bloody hell does that constantly texting ice princess have to do with anything, Mummy?"

"You know, Will, for all your brains, you can sometimes be totally oblivious to any and all social clues…"

"Anthea? And Mycroft? Really?

"Really, Will. I expect them to produce some perfectly charming little bureaucrats in due time, so don't do anything I will regret. Understand? I want grandchildren!"

Sherlock was starting to think that perhaps he had missed something, and then it all fell into place. Mycroft, he remembered, had hated that bloody lorry, too. He had only taken it to annoy his baby brother. He took it for a ride or two, then it had magically reappeared in Sherlock's toybox. Well, Molly Hooper was no lorry, and he would be damned if he was going to allow his his arrogant older brother to take her for a ride. So to speak. He hoped.

"Mummy, I have to go. Happy Mother's Day!"

"Will, Mother's Day is months away…"

"I know that, Mummy, but we both know I won't call then, so be happy that I thought of it now, alright? And, Mummy, you may console yourself with the thought that your first grandchild is not likely to be a bureaucrat! Goodbye, I must be off!"

"Where are you going, Will? Think before you do anything rash, now! Don't hurt your brother! You broke his nose last time, you know."

"I know, and he should thank me for the improvement in his appearance! But, not to worry. I'm simply going to ask him to return my pathologist. And then I will explain to her why she IS MY pathologist! And if Mycroft has any objections, I shall simply have a talk with Anthea. Between the two of us, I am sure you can straighten it out, although I am sure Anthea may be aiming for some rather more delicate parts than Mycroft's nose, if I am any judge of character!"

As soon as the detective rang off, Violet Holmes texted her elder soon.

HE'S ON HIS WAY. GIVE ANTHEA AND MOLLY MY REGARDS, AND LET ME KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. - MUMMY

UNDERSTOOD - MYCROFT

AND, BY THE WAY, IN THE INTEREST OF MY PROSPECTIVE GRANDCHILDREN, MAY I SUGGEST BODY ARMOR? OR AT LEAST A PROTECTIVE CUP! - MUMMY

Mycroft turned a bit pale, and took a deep swig of the excellent wine he was having with his rather excellent lunch. If his baby brother had broken his nose over a snatched toy, he dreaded to think what he was capable of doing to him over a purloined pathologist!


End file.
